


The Ill Intent

by LadyBookwormWithTeeth



Series: NSFW Drabble Meme Challenge [13]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), The Legend of Barney Thomson (2015), The Long Midnight of Barney Thomson - Douglas Lindsay
Genre: Attempted Murder, Awkward Flirting, Evil Mother, F/M, Library Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 16:01:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5791828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBookwormWithTeeth/pseuds/LadyBookwormWithTeeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barney comes to the library full of bad intentions. Belle has some bad intentions of her own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ill Intent

**Author's Note:**

> Anon prompted: Barnelle, getting caught.
> 
> Notes: This story has HUGE spoilers for both the movie and the book. It mostly follows movie canon, although I think Barney’s personality ended up resembling more book canon. This is my first Barnelle, so concrit is appreciated. Also, I still have about 10 prompts left from this meme I started in November. If you sent something and is still waiting, I’m sorry.
> 
> Warnings: No violent acts are committed, but there is a lot of talk about and plotting of murder.
> 
> Beta: @maddiebonanafana, and @dr-rushs-glasses also provided much needed feedback.

For the hundredth time since he arrived in Maine, Barney Thomson thought “I should have phoned the police,” as if repeating that mantra at least twice a day could somehow change the past. How different and glorious his life would have been if only he had made the right choice a year ago. For one thing, he would know nothing of the many ways one could dispose of a corpse. His mother's secret life as a vicious serial killer would have remained a secret, as would the truths about his own life. They wouldn't have been forced to run away to America, and he wouldn't be stuck managing a broken pawnshop. He knew nothing of pawnshops.

More to the point, if Barney Thomson had phoned the police a year ago, right after he accidentally stabbed his boss with a pair of scissors, he wouldn't be contemplating murder right now.

“She's in there,” Cemolina said, her sharp eyes on the library. Inside, he could see a weak light. Probably the flickering lamp that Barney always remarked on when he ran out of subjects, which happened quite often.

“You should get that fixed, Belle,” he'd say, sometimes three times in a single conversation.

As a barber, Barney was good at talking shite. It came with the job, though it had taken him a while to perfect the skill. Customers appreciated when you talked to them. The more brainless the subject, the better. Football was a favorite, though he knew nothing of it.

Belle didn't care for football, and she had no use for brainlessness. More often than not, he ran out of things to say to her within minutes, and Belle had to do all the talking. Barney wished she didn't, though. It would be easier to kill her if they had never talked to each other and he could just cross her out as the town's petite librarian. Or, in his mother's own words, “the frigid bookworm who thinks she's better than everybody else.” It wasn't an accurate assessment, but Barney had long given up hope that his mother would be fair or kind to any living soul.

Truth was, Belle was humble and nice. She had even gone into the pawnshop to buy a trinket on his first week on the job, just to show her support for the newcomers.

“Why does it have to be her?” Barney sighed.

The question wasn't directed at anyone in particular, but his mother still answered, “Because you told me to pick, and she's the one I picked.”

“But why does it have to be _her?”_ Barney insisted. “Can't it be someone horrible? Like the Mayor. You hate the Mayor, too.”

Cemolina cackled. “The Mayor will eat you alive! That girl is small and weak. She won't put up much of a fight.”

Barney doubted someone as sweet as Belle would put up a fight at all. Could he really do something so horrible? Wullie and Chris had been accidents. He didn't have to look them in the eye as he killed them, he just had to clean up the mess. What would it be like, to greet Belle at her desk, then lure her to a dark corner of the library, then make the first cut-

He fought the urge to vomit. His trusty scissors felt heavy in his pocket. What would he do with her body then? He couldn't let his mother butcher it. But maybe that was just what she wanted to do. He had no idea. Cemolina wasn't exactly forthcoming about it.

She remarked, “You don't look like you want to go through with it.”

Barney looked at his mother. They were so very different. Murder came so naturally to her it was almost compulsive. Right now, she wasn't disappointed, which was her overall state whenever Barney was concerned. She was salivating, waiting for him to forfeit the challenge and let her do it. And Barney was very close to doing just that.

But if he did hand her the scissors – or maybe she had her own butcher knife inside the oversized handbag – than she wouldn't stop. She would start with Belle, would probably take pleasure in it. Then, she'd move on to the next victim. And the next. And the next. And the next. Within weeks, they'd be forced to leave Storybrooke as well, the authorities breathing down their necks, a trail of corpses and destroyed families behind.

Or he could just man up and give Cemolina what she wanted. For how long would this second hand murder keep her satisfied? Barney couldn't be sure. Hopefully, it would be months before she felt the urge to see blood again. And if he proved to her that he could be trusted, then it would be easier to stall the next time. She may even grow out of it, find a new hobby.

“I'm fine,” Barney said, though he felt nauseated. He already felt guilty, and he hadn't even tried to hurt the poor girl yet. Better get on with it. “I'll be right back.”

He jumped out of the car and made his way to the library, eyes jumping from one corner of the street to the other, frantically looking for a witness. Cemolina wouldn't want him to go through with it if there was a witness. But the streets were deserted, and even the windows in every single building were dark. No one was looking. He was free to commit whatever atrocity he wanted.

Fucking hell.

 

*

 

The library door swayed quietly. Even his footsteps didn't squeak on the floor like they usually did. Belle – bless her pure, innocent soul! - kept her head low the entire time, eyes glued to the book she was reading, her pencil underlining bits of text. If Barney wanted to, he could circle the desk, approach her from behind, and finish the whole thing without much ado. She wouldn't even know it had been him. Maybe he could use the pencil she had in her hand and stage a suicide? It did look sharp enough.

Poor girl.

She deserved better.

Barney cleared his throat. Though the sound was soft, Belle still startled and yelped loud enough to make _him_ jump. For a split second, he caught a glimpse of terror on her face and he realized the dreadful truth: this was going to be the face staring right into his eyes as he committed his crime.

In a heartbeat, Belle dissolved into giggles. Because she recognized him. Because she thought she was safe. Because she knew that man to be Barney Thomson, pawnshop owner, and not a deranged murderer.

“Barney! You frightened me!” she laughed.

Barney couldn't even manage a smile. “I'm sorry. The door was unlocked.”

“I always forget to lock it after hours. I swear, one of these days a serial killer will walk in and I will be in big trouble.”

His heart skipped a beat. He said, “I'm sure that won't happen.”

“What brings you to the library at...” Belle checked her wrist watch. “Is it eleven already? God, I lost track of time.”

“Studying hard?” he asked. It was probably unwise to encourage chit chat with a potential victim. It wouldn't make things easier. But he couldn't help it. If he could only stall long enough, maybe someone would come in.

Belle shook her head. “My essay is due on Monday. Out of twenty pages, I've written less than three.”

Barney nodded. What a tragedy this was going to be. A young girl, not even graduated from college, who worked during the day to help her father pay the bills, and studied during the night so she could have a better future. This was first page material.

_Local librarian meets tragic ending in the hands of a fucking asshole who couldn't stand up to his mum. Authorities suspect Barney Thomson, because everything is Barney Thomson's fault. If only Barney Thomson hadn't been such a fucking idiot, then Miss French would still be-_

“Barney?”

He blinked a couple of times, pulling himself out of his reverie. But he couldn't think of anything to say, so he kept his lips shut.

“Are you okay? You seem...”

She made a vague gesture with her hand, as if handing the end of the sentence for him to finish.

He didn't.

“Distracted?” she tried.

“It's all fine,” Barney replied, though things had never been worse. For the both of them.

Belle didn't push. She never did. It was one of the reasons why she was so easy to talk to. It was also one of the reasons why he had become a regular patron of the library. It felt good to know he had somewhere, and _someone,_ to go to. Belle wouldn't ask invasive questions. She wouldn't join in vicious gossip about the outsiders who had recently moved to Storybrooke.

Many times, Barney felt like running to her and just confessing everything, putting his fate in her delicate hands. And though he knew that Belle would, in all likelihood, turn him over to the authorities, horrified that she ever befriended a criminal, it felt good to lie to himself sometimes. In his daydreams, he could pretend she accepted his secrets and promised to keep them. She would never allow Barney Thomson, a man so wronged and so fundamentally _good,_ to be locked away.

And then there were his night dreams, for which he would feel immensely guilty if most of them didn't end with mother banging on the thin wall that separated their bedrooms, shouting loud enough for all neighbors to hear, “ _If you keep doing that, your cock will fall off!_ ”

“You're spacing out again,” Belle called.

“It's all fine,” he repeated, urgent, his right hand shoved inside his pocket to fidget with the scissors.

“Or maybe you're just nervous.”

Barney blinked at her, watching a smile start forming on her face. It was a knowing smile, as if she could see right through him. It made Barney want to run out of the building. She was on to him.

“Nervous?” he said, his voice tiny, intimidated. He tried to laugh, but the sound that came out was awkward, a maddening cackle that he silenced quickly. “Nervous, no, I'm not nervous.”

“Is that so?” Without warning, she leaned closer. Even though there was a large desk separating them, Barney still took a step back. It seemed to amuse her. “You still haven't told me the reason of your late visit.”

In a knee-jerk reaction, he said, “It's nothing.”

There.

That was his cue to leave. If he was fast enough, he could tell mum Belle was dead and, maybe, if he was lucky, he could convince the old woman to leave town before she learned the truth.

“C'mon,” she said, preventing him from running away. “Are you sure you don't want to ask me anything?”

“I... an encyclopedia.”

Belle pushed herself back on her chair. “A _what_?”

Barney blinked several times, as if that would be enough to clear his mind. This was it. The plan. He insisted, “An encyclopedia. I came here to get an encyclopedia.”

“An encyclopedia?” she repeated, as if the word alone were the most ludicrous thing she had ever heard in her entire life.

“Yes. For my mum.”

“For your mum?”

“Yes.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“She... can't sleep.”

Belle stared at him, her eyes intense, annoyed. She wanted him to change his mind and confess right then and there. The thing was, she looked so upset by the whole encyclopedia lie that he almost wanted to.

“Encyclopedias are over there,” she finally said, motioning towards the darkest part of the library and then turning back to her book.

Barney sighed with relief. Without her inquisitive eyes on him, it was easier to think.

He cleared his throat. “Actually, I think I need help.”

“You really don't,” she said, not even bothering to look up. “They're all equally outdated.”

This wasn't going to work if she just sat there.

He cleared his throat again, it suddenly felt very dry.

“I still think I need help.”

Belle raised suspicious eyes at him. He needed an excuse, and a really good one. But with Belle looking at him like this, he couldn't remember the perfectly reasonable excuse he had thought of in the car.

“I... you... just come with me. Please?”

Belle thought about it. Then, she leaned over the desk again. “Barney, you do realize that is a very secluded part of the library. No windows... No lights...”

“I... hadn't thought of that.”

“I can only think of one reason why a gentleman would ask a lady to accompany him there.”

Murder. She was on to him.

“No!” he all but shouted, sounding more terrified than offended. “Why would I ever- I need help. A lot of help.”

Her eyes softened, the annoyance dissipating as she considered what he had said. When they dropped to below his waist, Barney could swear his heart had stopped. She could see them. Through the fabric of his pants, she could see the scissors. He knew it was not possible, but she did. She knew everything. He better start running.

But Belle simply pushed her hips back to roll her chair away and said, rather nicely, “If you'd follow me, Mr. Thomson.”

Barney gave the door one last, longing look, praying that someone would barge in. Where was Leroy and his terrible news when you needed him? Alas, he wasn't in luck. Pretty soon, his mother would get tired of waiting. Better get on with it.

The encyclopedias were kept at the back of the library, far from the door and the front desk. There were windows close to the ceiling, but they were too narrow and dusty to let any light in, let alone to see through. Belle was always complaining about the teenagers, who thought the corner was suitable for furtive meetings and make out sessions. The lamps were not strong enough to reach that far, so it was perpetually dark, no matter the time of day, and now it was close to midnight. When Belle turned to the left and braved into the shadows, Barney knew the time had come.

“Now then, what are we looking for?” she asked, voice low, high heels clicking a slow-paced rhythm on the floor. Her left hand rested on the spine of a book, then another, then another, as she made her way to the end of the row.

Barney stroked the scissors in his pocket, but didn't dare go any further.

“What a random thing to ask for in the middle of the night,” Belle remarked, in that funny way, that _knowing_ way. “Your mother has strange tastes.”

Barney said, “Yes, well.” But couldn't think of anything to follow that.

At the end of the corridor, Belle turned around. “Do you see anything you want?”

Barney's breath got caught in his throat. Yes, he did see something he wanted. But as it turned out, he wasn't allowed to have it. How heartbreaking it was that murder would be the most intimate act he'd ever commit with this woman, and especially now, when she looked so beautiful, wrapped in shadows and calling him closer with inviting eyes.

“So?” Belle insisted.

He couldn't do it while she was looking at him, so he pointed at the volume right above her head. As soon as she turned around, he could cover the distance between them with three steps and put an end to everything.

But she didn't turn around. She just raised on hand and pointed at a random volume, eyes still on him. “Is it this one?”

There was a smirk on the corner of her mouth.

Barney shook his head. “No. More to your right.”

“Oh, you mean...” her fingers slid to the side, blindly choosing another book. _“This_ one?”

She was taunting him. She knew exactly what he was up to. She had probably phoned the police already – he couldn't explain how or when, but it was a possibility.

Barney shook his head again. “No. Maybe you don't have it. Maybe I should-”

“Come here.”

It was a soft order, but it still made his knees buckle.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Come here.”

The distance between them felt endless and Barney completed it with heavy steps that must have looked so guilty. But Belle didn't budge or tremble or try to get away. Suddenly, she was standing right in front of him, her back resting on the bookshelf, one hand still mindlessly caressing the spine of an encyclopedia. Even in the dark her eyes looked bright and so full of life. She had nothing to fear.

“I believe this is what you are looking for,” she rasped, filling the silence between them.

Barney looked at the book she was touching and nodded without thinking twice. It had to be now. He could lean in and take the book from the shelf and then... he wouldn't have to look into her eyes. He could whisper he was sorry in her ear. It wouldn't be worth shite to her, but he had to do it.

“Yes,” he agreed, leaning in without thinking twice, the vicious scissors coming out of his pocket, hesitant, looking for some sort of bravery or cruelty that would help him finish the task. “Yes, that is it. Thank you very mu-”

And that was when she captured his lips with hers and banished all thoughts from his head.

If his heart had been racing before, right now Barney was sure the old thing would jump out of his chest, or just give him a fulminating heart attack. It would be poetic justice. He came to the library to claim her life and, instead, she murdered him with a kiss.

That must be it, or else it made no sense to him, and like all things that were unfamiliar, her kiss made Barney feel edgy, alert, and utterly confused. Every muscle in his body tensed, every breath ceased. But Belle was the complete opposite. Her eyes had fluttered shut and, if she could sense his panic, she was not alarmed by it. In fact, she seemed to take it as a challenge, moving her lips and trying to find the perfect pace to make him relax.

It didn't take her long to gain complete control over his body and will. On the tip of her tongue, Barney was undone. He was completely hers. If her hand stroked his nape, he would sigh accordingly. If her tongue pressed his lips open, he'd obey without a second thought. If she was allowing him to kiss her back, he'd explore every bit of her mouth for as long as she was willing.

Suddenly, she pulled back, whining a series of “Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!” And though Barney was still unable to form cohesive thoughts, he was sure he'd done something wrong. Which was expected. How long had it been since he had kissed a woman? He knew the number of years, he had counted them obsessively, but he didn't want to think of it now. Barney looked down, ashamed, and startled at what he saw. For a moment, he didn't understand why there was a pair of scissors in his hand. Sharp scissors, too. In all his clumsiness, he had scratched her thigh.

It wasn't until he saw the little speck of blood that it all came back to him and a second wave of panic threatened to give him away. The murder. Yes. And mother was in the car. How was he supposed to kill her now? And worse, how was he supposed to explain the scissors?

But Belle had already come up with her own explanation and was smiling at him again. A different smile. A wolf's grin.

“And me thinking you wanted to ask me out on a date,” she giggled. “You are full of bad intentions, aren't you?”

“I...” he stammered.

Her wounded leg wrapped itself around his and pulled him closer. Barney took a step towards her, but tried to keep his hips away. If she felt the effect she had on him, she might be disgusted and end the whole thing.

“I don't do this with just anyone,” she confessed, a hint of shyness in her voice. “But I do like you.”

Simple words, but they made Barneys heart flutter like that of a school boy with a crush. Belle liked him. She said so herself. And she had kissed him.

“I like you, too,” he said, glad to hear the words sounding so sure of themselves, for once.

The tip of her nose tickled his cheek. “Yeah? But you're always making me wait. That isn't very nice.”

Belle pouted. She looked so cute and heartbroken that he said, “Sorry,” even though he didn't quite understand what he had done.

The apology seemed to be enough for her, though, because her right hand tightened the grip she had on his nape, making him shiver. Her left hand started lifting her skirt.

From where he stood, his eyes caught a glimpse of pink fabric, and not a lot of it.

“Do you want to cut them off?” she whispered.

Barney couldn't think of anything that he wanted more in life. He hadn't cut hair in months, but his hands were still steady. He'd never cut the straps of knickers before (would these scissors even do, or did he need a special pair?), but he was sure that scratching her a second time, and close to such a delicate area, would not be so easily forgiven. He moved carefully, executing two quick snips that sent her panties to the floor. His scissors soon followed.

Belle bit down on a sensitive spot on his neck, drawing a moan out of him. Had that always felt so good? He couldn't remember. He wasn't even sure any of the women he had been with – well... _either_ of the women he had been with had even cared enough to try to please him.

Belle traced kisses up to his ear. “You're making me wait again.”

“Sorry,” he said, wondering if that was enough permission to touch her.

“Maybe you just need a little incentive.”

She fumbled with his belt and, without giving Barney time to think, she shoved his pants down to his ankles. Her leg pulled him even closer, pressing the fabric of his underwear to her nudity. There was no way she wouldn't notice just how hard she was making him.

“You won't make me wait anymore, will you Barney?” she teased, moving her hips just enough to tease him. “It's not really-”

“ _Oh for fuck's sake, Barney! Can't you do anything right?_ ”

Belle screamed and pushed her skirt down, but Barney didn't move. At first, because he was still too caught up in that wonderful dizziness that was having Belle rubbing herself against his erection. And then, it was because his mother's voice finally penetrated his mind, setting a long chain of thoughts into motion. One that started with murder and ended with the realization that his mother had just walked in on him when he was about to have sex with their murder victim.

He turned a mortified expression towards her. Cemolina stood a few feet away, hands on her hips and a disapproving look in her eyes.

“Mum... I...”

“ _We got your encyclopedia_!” Belle announced, pulling a random book from the shelf and knocking five other on the floor in the process.

“Yes, mum!” Barney agreed, very aware that Belle's leg was still hooked on his, and that her pink knickers were tossed on the floor, just inches away with what was supposed to be the murder weapon.

“For _fuck's_ sake!” Cemolina yelled again, stomping away from the two of them.

Barney disentangled himself from Belle and tried to run after her, shouting, “Mum, wai-” only to be reminded the hard way that his pants were still wrapped around his ankles. By the time Cemolina started the car and sped away, Barney was still on the floor.

 

 

 


End file.
